Was it the wind howling in the rigging, the erratic movements of the boat, the sudden acceleration accompanied by the whooshing and surging of water over the rudder blades just behind me, or was it the shouting of crew members trying to communicate above the noise of the storm as they fought to keep the boat under control? I’ve had never experienced the like and being below was, quite frankly, terrifying. My role was there, monitoring progress and navigating the storm trying to ensure the worst was avoided. I had to place his trust in others who also had never experienced the like, who fought their own fears to carry on sailing through the hurricane. One experienced crew member was heard to comment that the 35kt boat speed he achieved was enough and he’d like to slow down now please. It’s always sobering when you reach and stretch the edge of your comfort zone, and I was there for around 36 hours.

We were told later that the waves were of phenomenal height, greater than 14m, or the height of 4 double decker buses stacked on top of each other. Forget fairground rides, nothing will ever beat this experience. On the second day I joined Blue Watch for a couple of hours and looked around in amazement at the panorama surrounding me. Riding the switchback of towering waves and seeing waves breaking on waves, with each covered in wind-blown ripples. Periodically a wave would break over the side of the boat, higher than head-height requiring me to make sure I was braced. (The image below was taken on Sanya around the same time.) If not, and it happened, crew were washed to the extent of their tethers and would emerge spluttering from the draining water. The previous night 5 had their life jackets auto-inflated by the volume of water coming across the boat. Spume was streaking across it all, with a mist of spray blowing over that. The colours of the sea were many shades of blue through to a creamy turquoise. In addition to keeping the towering waves behind us so we weren’t rolled over, the helms negotiated a route down the steep slopes such that they tried to avoid heading straight into the depths of the trough. The skipper nearly didn’t make it once, and the bowsprit dug into the wave ahead. The boat almost stopped dead from a speed of around 25kts, paused, then pirouetted about its bow, rolled sharply and then set off up the slope as the bowsprit emerged, somewhat bent.

Two days later we’re sailing under our medium spinnaker with a full mainsail, with calmer seas and had portholes open during the afternoon to help the boat dry out. It’s as well that personal kit is stored in dry bags as some of the cave lockers and bunks get soaked. Smiles and laughter have returned along with banter as a more self-confident crew, enhanced by the experience, relish the conditions; what’s 30kts compared with 75?